Voldemort's Obsession

12 Grimmauld Place was rarely this lively. Everyone had gathered together to celebrate a memorable occasion, while certain old drunks used it as an excuse to have a little drink.

Normally, in case something unexpected happened at any moment, they never dared drink and could only endure it. But with Dumbledore here today, they could indulge themselves a little.

When Sirius returned with the Firewhisky the House of Black had preserved for who knew how many years, he found that the people around the dining table had already started raising their glasses.

"Hey, why couldn't you wait until I got back?" Sirius complained, setting the bottle down on the table. "You have no idea what you missed. Even I wouldn't be able to find a second bottle of Firewhisky from this vintage."

"It's fine. You can save it for Remus's wedding," Mr. Weasley said indifferently. "But right now, you'd better put that broken bottle down and have a proper taste of this."

"A broken bottle?" Sirius briefly wondered whether he had failed to explain himself clearly. He instinctively turned the bottle around, revealing the date—1859.

"Look carefully. This is Ogden's most classic Dragon Crystal Barrel Firewhisky, a genuine aged vintage, and you're calling it a broken bottle?"

"Ha, it's not even a hundred and fifty years old." Mr. Weasley gave a deliberately disdainful snort.

That only left Sirius even more confused. Since when had a hundred-and-fifty-year-old Firewhisky become so unappealing?

"Arthur's right. You really should put that broken bottle away today." In the end, Lupin could not stand it any longer. He picked up an unremarkable glass bottle from beside him and poured the clear amber mead inside into Sirius's cup.

"This is the real good stuff... a thousand-year-old mead."

"Mead... wait, how many years did you just say?" Sirius